Inside the arena
by shadowtune
Summary: Criminals, slaves and animals, all sent to the arena. A place of hellish battle.  There they live as hollow shells, but all with a single wish.  Tis is tale of the want, and fight for freedom, but that road will have tragedy waiting for a single mistake.
1. Chapter 1

The crowd around the arena roared for more blood. The master in charge of the ring banged his staff against the ground, and nodded at a guard. The guard signaled and the doors leading to the ring are opened.

Four people walked unwillingly but given little choice by the heavily armed escorts around them. Each of the prisoners were taken to separate corners of the field. Only then did each get a shoddy weapon handed to them.

Spectators shouted, gleefully cheerful at the new promise for battle. Bloodlust roused in them, and they saw this grisly sight appealing. The master raised his staff once again fueled by the applause he attained by having these duels fought by criminals. In the air the hung for a lingering second in order for the crowd to grow in excitement. Then the same bang that the fighters in sound across the arena in order to begging the struggle.

The prisoner clad in green rags rotated the rusty sword in his hand provided to him by the guards. Taking in its weight and poor balance he viewed his opponents; a creature round and pink thing across the stadium stepped backwards in fear, a humanoid fox who grimaced as he moved into a stance, and an angel that scowled at the spectators.

They all knew that until only one stood and they others fell that they would not be allowed to leave. Link charged at the angel not fully caring whether or not that he left openings in his defense. Instead he let the rage inside him boil and take control of his actions. His blade moved in a circular momentum slashing further towards the angel.

In defense the angel brought up his weapon, blocking the flurry of blows. In a counter attack as soon as Link's motion stopped he attacked in a downward directly at his head, while he hooked Link's leg with his own in an attempt to trip. Link fell but dodged the blow by rolling out of way. However this opened him up to a hard punch from the pink creature who followed with a hammer blow directly on Link's ribs.

Almost certain that at least one rib was broken, Link kicked the pink thing out of his way. He moved backward watching the fox and angel exchange blows. A shining thing caught his eye, he darted forward and grabbed a metal box. When the pink thing came back he heaved the entire box at it, knocking it back into the fox. They began to tear at each other.

Swearing in pain Link backed up, as the angel advanced with a burning flower. Soon the green clad warrior found himself enshrouded by flames that burnt his skin leave large swelling blisters. The painful agony only stopped when the flower turned to ashes.

In a rage brought on by this newest attack, Link threw himself upon the angel. With his sword he cut and diced, shredding at the angel's delicate wings and skin. A whirlwind in motion his blade never stopped continuously looking for an opening. The angel blocked well but he did not have the same fuel driving him, and eventually exhaustion caused him to falter where the blade then cut. Then pain took a toll of its own on the body and another opening showed itself. Then another and another.

Eventually the scarped, bloody body of the angel fell. Blood oozed from his numerous wounds and he gave one last scream of pain then passed out. Link stood above him with his sword held barely above the angel's collapsed body. Red fell off his sword in a steady stream as Link's rage subsided slowly.

Tiredness washed over him like a flood. This was not his first battle, nor would it be his last. Yet every time Link let the anger growing inside of him for being used like an animal for sport, he felt even more exhausted mentally. One of the veteran fighters here, Link had been for years. After the initial fire that lit him every time he entered the ring, the strength from his fingers seeped away.

The crowd screeched in pleasure at the angel's strong body being torn. They jeered in cruel at the pain inflicted by the warrior clad green to the white angel. Wanting more, the mass of watchers called sick encouragement.

Link ignored them all. Again and again he ignored them in battle, each time though his spirit waned a little, letting in a fragment of speech that caused more pain.

Stepping over the angel's body, Link wasted a thought on whether the angel would live. A fresh fighter, his body had not yet time to readjust itself to the new tougher lifestyle found in the midst ring. Perhaps though, their might be a chance at survival for him, then the angel would have a chance at winning a brawl.

The pink thing squeaked in pain as the fox delivered a well placed blow to his central nerve cord. Flying out of the ring, it must have hit a wall as loud thud could be heard right afterwards, but Link did not try to see. Instead he blocked the fox's articulate attacks. A blow high, then low, and then low again, the attacks came sweeping down in order to break Link's pattern.

Block, block, parry, miss, feign, attack, block parry. The rhythm fell in tune as the fox's hands jabbed at any opening and blocked Links every movement. A punch to the already broken ribs stopped his world for a few critical moments. Instead of waiting and watching for the fox's next strike, his vision wobbled as his leg shakily stumbled. Moving he stepped away and out of reach, the fox's arms were shorter than the reach of Link's sword and he used the advantage. Attack, attack, attack, press forward do not stop, attack again, do not let his opening go unanswered. The muscle finely honed in battle before and after Link found himself here, knew the formula and the drill.

However the eyes of the fox were crafty and saw an advantage of their own. Nasty burn marks still marred the skin of the warrior clad in green, and it showed in the way he fought. Careful in not brush himself and let the pain spread further, and more delicately then before so as not to leave already sensitive skin out to be clawed.

Two side steps later the fox stood back to his position near Link's body. Blood soaked the fox's shirt, and an already infected gash on his shoulder slowed his left arm a tad but that mattered not. In a sudden shift the fox went from precise martial fighter to savage attacks that clawed and bit. Link yelled in pain as skin tore from itself and more blood gushed out.

Realizing that he could not win, Link desperately did a final move. He threw his sword blindly. The motion caused the fox's head to turn to see where it went, and the hidden trap was. In that fraction, Link doubled punched the fox; one hand on the chest the other hitting the gut.

In pain and tiredness both fighters fell over. However even the final attack did not enough for Link to win this fight. The fox stood up, even though unable to see in one eye from the repeated beatings. The warriors clad in green did not stand up again to fight, instead the loss of blood caused him to pass out.

A triumphant cheer came rousing from the audience, pleased by the performance of the fighters. The master in charge hit his large wooden staff against the floor, officially ending this particular fight, and then the master cried out above the crowd, "And the winner is FOX!"

Guards came out onto the field to cart out the unconscious bodies of the losers and to march away the winner.

Red, a Pokemon trainer, watched as the unconscious body of the angel was paled in the same cavern-like infirmary he sat in to make sure his Pokemon healed. A nervous youth and a scared one too Red scrambled away when he saw the severity of his wounds.

Deep, and bloody gashes that still bleed and now seeped out puss. The healer's placed herb-infused bandages on the wounds and spoke a few words that crinkled the air with magic. Not much more then that however was done. The healers were paid well to keep the fighter's alive but they were not paid to keep them well.

After all a fighter that died outside of a fight was a waste of resources, a dying fighter that was finished off during battle though was an attraction and added bonus for those who paid to watch. So the healers finished their sorcery and then left the angel as he was. Covered in blood and sweat, and just as unconscious as when he arrived.

Miserably, Red crept over to where the angel lay, unmoving. A truly nice person and truly caring for the health of others Red rearranged his body. Then he took one of the two clean cloths in the room and scrubbed off some of the clinging grime. This place felt so wrong to Red, his own emotions could not comprehend the point of it all. In his mind, so young, naive and pure the idea that blood lust drew people like moths to a flame seemed abhorrent.

"Th-thank you." The angel's eye cracked open a bit, his voice sound weak from the fight but strong enough to be clear. Red opened his mouth in surprise that he had awoken so soon after the healing. Smiling the angel pushed himself up and asked in voice that now grew much stronger, "Do you have water?"

Red fetched some water from a pitcher in the back of this infirmary. Gratefully the angel drank the entire pitcher. "Ah," He sighed in appreciation of the coldness in the water. "Are you a healer?" He questioned rubbing the badges that covered the wound on his thigh.

Red shook his head. "I-I'm a fighter, I guess." In truth he was supposed to lead the Pokemon that were captured here into battle, nut the way the he also was thrust into the brawl caused him to come out with just as many scratches.

"Oh, well they know their stuff here, even if they are lazy gist," The angel announced cheerfully. He moved his legs over the side of stoned bed and wiggled his toes experimentally. Pain shot through his body, and left dulls aches in their wake. "Thanks again then, since I know your in the predicament I'm in, I can actually feel more comfortable with you, " He added continuing his odd conversation in his increasingly happy attitude. "Name's Pit, by the way. That was my first fight here, pretty good wasn't I?" Unaware that his companion was backing up in shock he blithely continued, "Granted this place is sick and twisted. No worried though, I know that I'm gonna get out of here soon enough. Hmm, pretty quiet aren't you? What's your name?"

"Red." It came out immediately after the question in a mechanical way, he was still looking at Pit as though he had lost his sanity. After all people never escaped here did they? At least in his two months here Red had been told that repeatedly by the veterans of this hellhole. The only way to leave was to die.

Approvingly Pit nodded his head. "I like that name," he decided after testing the name out, "and because you were decent and cleaned me off when I was filthy, when I leave I'm taking you with me. Anyway escape plans always work better with two people. So…" Pit stopped and seemed out words to say.

Not wishing for Pit to remain in wishful thinking Red bleakly said, "I don't think there is an escape."

With a knowing smile PIt smugly stated, "That's what they want you to think. Don't you know that when you lose hope, they win? What are you made of anyway," He winced after that query as an injury on his side reopened and began bleeding more. "Gods, that guy was a good fighter."

Wrapping the second remaining clean cloth around Pit's waist, Red stopped the flow of blood. Red stammered out then, "I-I don't re-really fight much." Making sure that Pit's wound did not overrun the cloth, Red wrung some of the blood off onto the stone floor.

This time Pit looked surprised, "I thought they only sent criminals who fight, here. Or are you holding out on me?" A well-known information tidbit was that criminals with fighting ability, once convicted were sold as slaves to this place where the Master held sows.

"I'm a Pokemon trainer, and they capture a lot of them from the wilds. That's why I'm here."

In sympathy Pit grimaced, "God this place is sick, making someone that can't even fight much and forcing him to survive out there." He rubbed his now scarred hand through his ruffled, and blood soaked brown hair. Plans and thoughts zoomed in and out of his head at an amazing rate.

Defiantly Pit grinned, he liked a challenged when it came and he already hated this place. "Don't worry, Red. Stick with me and we'll find a way out. Somehow."

Red just shook his head, but part of him listened to every word that spilled from the angel's tongue. As he went back to see how his Charizard was doing, he felt for the first time since he arrived there was a glimmer of elusive hope. Even should that hope fade, in a place like this where they were treated according to their fighting ability and winning score and he being not a fighter needed that glimmer. For the first time since being arrested Red felt a bit of his tension fade, and after the many months, Red was grateful for even that much.

* * *

><p>By the time Kirby woke up from the fight, his injuries were already half-healed. Pain still clung to his body like hunger haunted his stomach. He moved off the bed he sat on and moved clumisily to the door. Kirby left that infimary and made his way through empty hallways to where the slop called dinner was served. All prisoners here had ten minutes to reach the room or it would be shut for the night and the unlucky one would have wait till morning for food.<p>

Kirby though had trained himself to always awaken right before the doors to the kitchen were opened. Then he ran down the halls, the need for food driving him to ignore the pain etched violently into his pink skin. Entering the room right before the main crowd did he situated himself in the corners of the walls waiting for a cook to slam a bowl of soup in front of him.

More fighters entered then more, and even more. They all sat down barely acknowledging each others existences, after all who wished to fight to such extremes with people they actually knew. Added on the Master of this place was known for his joy of forcing friends to fight each other, and would gleefully watch them be forced to cut at each others lives. For sanity's sake it was wiser to not form many bonds.

Watching with wide eyes, Kirby noticed something though. There were so many people now. Far more than when Kirby first had been sold here. At that time there had been barely any and they had always been trying to escape. Now though even new people just mulled along when not fighting, creepy now that he though deeply about it. Even when a bowl _was_ slammed down before him, Kirby kept thinking.

Everyone hated this place with all their mind, yet people stopped fighting it. Now everyone seemed to stop their living when not fighting. Granted fighting to a bloody end for people who watched for grisly sport sapped away energy but nobody did anthing. The spark in people's eyes all died away in but a day. Kirby wondered why. He had been here for a long time yet others had barely been here yet they also defeated.

The thought puzzled the pink creature, as he was unable to come up with a he pushed to the back of his mind, and eat the rest of his tasteless food. Still, it was funny though.

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><p><em>E<em>nd

Hooray, chapter one is up! I've had this story in mind for a little whil now and I'm glad I finally have it started. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda breathed in and out in rhythmic pattern. Inhaling with a single thought, and exhaling as it ended in order to give birth to the new one. Her breath came chilled in the cold air of unheated air, but nonetheless controlled and disciplined.

Kneeling before the old wooden bed in the room she shared with the other women, Zelda prayed to whoever wished to hear her prayer. Once finished she murmured a few words, and gracefully stood up still in a demeanor of absolute control. She closed her eyes, and sighed.

Her arm ached from a fight earlier that day where her muscles had been torn, and even though the healer's had spread a balm on the arm, it still hurt. She rubbed the painful sections, allowing the magic she possessed to force the swelling down. With that done, and arm hurting less she moved over to the bed and sat down on it.

_:Will you be alright, Zelda?: _A voice only in her head asked. Zelda nodded her head, answering in her mind that she would be fine. _:Today you should have let me fight. Then you wouldn't be hurt, now.: _

Zelda smiled a bit. Loyal Sheik, who even now trying to protect her from harm, even though there no way to avoid it. Touching though, that Sheik still attempted after two and half years of suffering in this place. A very long two and half years it had been.

With a tired type of amusement Zelda answered back. _:You fought last time, did you not? Fair is fair.: _A simple answer was all she had, Sheik always wanted to be the one in the arena, yet Zelda stayed insistent on an every other arrangement.

Mentally, Sheik snorted at the concept of fair in this place. Her lady was always difficult to appease. _:I don't wish for you to be hurt, that is all. My duties have been banished because we were arrested, and sent to here. Let me take over for the night, I can use our stock of goods.:_

Closing her eyes, Zelda let out a steady breath, and she rubbed her sore head. Sheik's personnel magic caused her to heal slower than Zelda but she had more knowledge of how to tend injuries was far superior. _:Very, well: _She agreed to Sheik's request. Spreading her small hands across her chest, Zelda opened the channel of her magic and shifted her mind into a trickle of thought. Her head swarmed slightly, as it did every time she changed

Suddenly, Zelda was emerged in a white glow. Then sitting in the same spot, in the same position sat a different women than the one who sat there before. Two souls that inhabited one body. A simple description of what was going on there. Each soughed a serrate body, but only one could present at time. Normally Zelda remained the dominate one, with Sheik able to communicate her thoughts to her.

Sheik leapt from the bed, catapulting herself a corner of the damp room. While Zelda had a lithe, beautiful but delicate body, Sheik's form was entirely groomed, flexible muscle. Use her course, ragged hands Sheik dug away a lose stone from the floor, and moved away the newly grown moss. The stone gave easily showing a space that previously had been hidden. A small, simple crate was all that was in the space, but Sheik opened it to reveal, small bundles of dried herbs all tied together.

Grabbing a single leaf, Sheik placed back the stone on the her hidden spot. Then she chewed the leaf into pieces and used the rags of cloth she wore to keep the herb firmly on her wounded arm.

_:Thank you, Sheik.: _Zelda mentally touched Sheik's shoulder. Two people would be hard pressed to be closer then these two were. At times like this, Zelda appreciated it.

_:Of course, my lady:_

An interruption arrived when the old, cracked door opened, and a blue haired, slender man stuck part of his head in. "You should come Zel-," Marth Lowell stopped his speaking when he realized that it was not the soft spoken lady he expected in the room. However he continued despite the hesitation, "One of the new slaves got in a fight with a guard. They're fighting right now, but it is about to become a public a beating."

Sheik nodded, and made sure the precious herb pieces on her arm were unable to be seen. "Thank you, Marth." She vaulted over near Marth, then headed out the door without another word, instead just giving him a nod of acknowledgment.

Zelda mused, :_It has been a long time since someone has been beaten before everyone else as an example. What did he do, I wonder?: _In fact she could barely recall the last time that had happened, lately everyone scurried away from the guards in hopes of not getting in trouble. _:This place lately has lost emotion. You think it may possible for it to come back?:_The slow draining of thoughts had been prevalent in the last half year but Zelda before had shoved it in the back of her mind. Now however, the sharp mind that she possessed began to grind thoughts away.

Only one reply seemed at all likely to Sheik, and her grim outlook to life, _:Unlikely there will ever be.:_ The bitterness of her words stayed entirely unhidden from Zelda, letting her lady hear every last drop of disbelief. After all in the place dubbed hell, who dared to dream of emotions?

_:Perhaps you are right.:_ A tad of uncertainty tainted the words, and a sprinkle of wondering weakened their meaning. Something in Zelda's sense told her of a new taste in the flow of this place. Be it for the better, or worse she could not tell. Neither could she say why she felt his.

Sheik idly scratched at the blue rags covering her toned body. Trusting the instincts Zelda possessed, Sheik snorted slightly. Once a noble, always a noble, even when living in an arena for two years. If Zelda's thoughts perfectly formed themselves into acute, precise words, then she shared them to others. Not until then of course, words not yet completed at later date might be used against you.

Marth turned his head to watch the young woman sprint down the hall. At a much more leisurely pace he followed suit, since he saw no reason to rush anywhere. Nothing here managed to be worth the extra energy needed to hurry along. Nothing changed here.

As he spit at the feet of the large guard, Pit realized that perhaps that calling the man a bastard, had not been the wisest thing of all things to do. Perhaps a little late in the the revelation though, as the guard grabbed a large stick and swung at Pit's head. Pit ducked, and then in an immediate reaction to being threatened, hit back with his fists.

The result was the now livid guard yelling for others to come and help him beat the rebellious prisoner that dared to show defiance. They did come, large strong men with gigantic weapons that they knew how to used.

One came from behind, in order garb Pit's arms. Avoiding the grab, and the low swing from another, Pit backed away. Every defiant ounce in him wanted to fight, but the part of him that stayed cool, and sensible in battle warned him that no battle he could not win or even escape was good.

Sweat rolled down his back as he swerved left, causing the flail looming closer to snap against the stone wall. He backed into a corner of the wall, holding out his hands in a defense against attack.

Pit was a talented fighter, he always has been since he can remember. However at the time, he was no match for the guards. They were well feed and had access to luxuries that the prisoners could barely remember anymore. Pit still felt sore from losing to the maniac in green the day before. The result being his blocks were off and a just a bit slow.

Mistakes that in his position, were not affordable. His side was bruised as it slammed into the wall after a heavy hit with a mall. His shoulder screeched in agony to his nerves when the heavy glaive of a guards thrust into it. A situation desperate enough that even Pit, known for his arrogance in thought saw no way of heroically winning.

In that case he did the one thing that could derive these depraved guards of something. He refused to scream, whimper or moan in the pain. Not the one thing every sicko in the world gleefully wished for in there sadistic fantasies. Even when his exhausted body fell on the ground, he said nothing. Screamed nothing. Begged for nothing. He closed off his voice from the hearing of others.

They dragged him to somewhere by the roots of his hair. Through swollen eyes he saw a crowd of other prisoner's, including Red who watched him. Only Red seemed to look horrified. The others just looked on with dispassionate eyes that stared blankly.

Damn them, damn them all. Where had there spirits gone to make them so limp. Did they break like brittle sticks after there first look of this place. As the guards summoned every prisoner with the sound of a gong, Pit glared through the pain. They all looked like wilted stems in a pond to him at that moment. They could have tried to fight this place. Hell, they could show some emotion. Something to make them real.

Shadowed figures then as his vision blacked. Did nothing touch them anymore so twisted by the nature of here there spot of hatred they lived in. Suffering should not make anyone close their heart. So damn them. All that remained clear to him was Red. Red cared, he still clung to his heart, and embraced the sorrow. Red was a good person, a person caught in the etches of fate and wrung out to dry, nothing he did qualified him for hell. Nothing at all. That was something Pit held onto, in his mind to block the escalating injuries. An example for the others the guards thought. An example not to fight their leadership, and sheer might.

Fools. Pit was going to prove that he still had fight. He would fight, and continue to do so for as long as it took before he was out of here or dead and embraced by death's guardian.

_Don't worry, Red. We will get out of here. I swear._

* * *

><p>Someone raised their lip disgust at the angel being beaten. Idiot and Moron were barely terms that covered his absolute stupidity. It was like the kid wanted to get hurt.<p>

One didn't fight here because there was nothing to fight. Even if you got rid of the guards, they were only pawns, the true leader were unreachable form the short grasp available to the imprisoned. That the person had learned the hard way, through blood and tears. And the scars of in their sight.

The only things to do here were to keep ones head down and jump when told to do so. Then you prayed either to survive for as long as possible like a drowning rat fighting for breath or to die quickly, and painlessly in the ring of torment. Whatever one's preference here was. The place for heroism was were you were visible to the eyes of all. Not in the shadowed corners they lived in, and breathed in for there every breath.

The person casts their eyes down when they throw the unconscious body on the post to remain for the rest of the night. If the angel had smarts he'd quit now. Before he lost his life for nothing.

The person was the last to skitter out of them except for that kid with the Pokemon. He timidly crept to Pit's unconscious form. A friendship perhaps? The more pain for them then. The more for the true villain to use in his playpen of hell

Once the person could have recalled having a trusted friend but events had blackened the person's heart and they knew it. The best way to live without anguish was to rip remorse away. That meant no bonds were forged. Not by those who wished to no longer to feel the edge of the knife called guilt, and the stone of the hammer called failure.

The higher up your ideal of nature was, the harder you fall. The person had watched someone fall once far. Never again would the person watch with the same eyes.

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><p>Yay, for the second chapter being out. Hopefully everyone enjoyed it, then did the wonderful thing of reviewing.<p> 


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